


Kapa o Pango, or What Happened to the Coffee Table?

by Anonymous



Series: Unanswered Questions [6]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Accidents, Blow Jobs, Canon Queer Relationship, Episode: s06e06 The Wingman, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Missing Scene, Patrick Brewer is Thirsty, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rugby, Rugby World Cup, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: David introduces Patrick to rugby, kind of, and things happen. A missing scene for the Wingman.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Unanswered Questions [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1454548
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123
Collections: Anonymous





	Kapa o Pango, or What Happened to the Coffee Table?

**Author's Note:**

> This is what they're watching: [All Blacks - Haka Kapa O Pango](https://youtu.be/EXLdoVm8lF8).

“But you said…David?” Patrick can’t keep the confusion out of his voice, “you don’t _like_ sports.” And maybe he’s having a hard time controlling the muscles in his forehead, which are currently struggling between conflicting impulses to scrunch his brows together in disbelief and raise the aforementioned eyebrows up toward his hairline in surprise. David “I don’t know what that means; I don’t play cricket” Rose has just suggested they watch…rugby?

David’s eyes twinkle as he gives Patrick one of _those_ grins, that fond “lips smooshed all the way to the left” number he does when he’s just so damn amused by his fiancé that he can’t stay coy. Patrick loves those grins. He leans over and plants a soft little kiss on those smooshed lips. When he breaks it off, David nuzzles the tips of their noses together, and then settles back against into the corner of the sofa. He wraps those strong arms around Patrick’s shoulders and pulls him closer, encouraging him to nestle into the space between his legs. Patrick, of course, obliges, settling himself against David’s broad, firm chest, letting his head rest on his shoulder—only after kissing that soft, stubbly spot underneath his jaw, though.

The neck kisses are an unconscious thing by now, his body acting on muscle memory, perhaps, or just some sort of primal necessity. When his mouth is in kissing range of David’s neck, it has to kiss it. He didn’t make the rules; it’s just how things are.

Patrick settles into the coziness of David’s broader frame, surrounded by the softness of Givenchy cashmere at his back and a locally-sourced alpaca throw at his front, and sighs happily.

David noses at the short hair behind Patrick’s ear, his warm breath tickling and teasing, sending electric zings shooting down Patrick’s spine.

“I like _this_ ,” David murmurs against his ear, and Patrick melts a little bit more. “Mmm, me too, love.”

Patrick feels more than hears the laugh rumbling up from David’s chest. “Well, _obviously_ I like _this,_ ” David says, wrapping his legs around Patrick and giving him a four-limbed squeeze. “But I was talking about the rugby show.”

“The rugby… _show_?” Patrick chuckles. This is sounding more like _his_ David. The “my boyfriend’s on the baseball team” David who still somehow managed to get the grand slam and win the championship game against Ronnie. Patrick turns onto his side, snuggled up into a ball, and pulled the throw up to his chin. He wants to be completely surrounded by David, and David does his level best to make that happen.

“Just watch,” David smiles down at him, kisses the tip of his nose, his forehead, and then nuzzles his temple against the top of Patrick’s head.

On the screen, Patrick watches as two teams take to the field. He doesn’t really know much of anything about rugby, which is just one of the reasons this whole situation is so surreal. The team in red and white is just sort of…standing there, kind of close to the end zone (is it called an end zone in rugby? Patrick isn’t sure). 

But the other team.

They’re in a cluster at the center of the field, decked out in completely black uniforms, and, okay, Patrick can see why this particular team would appeal to David’s monochrome aesthetic. And it looks like they’re…honestly, the positions they’re in remind Patrick of his musical theatre days, setting up for a big number.

And that’s what they do. Only it’s not a song…it’s a chant, with coordinating movement, a kind of call and response between one player and the rest of the team, almost…well, it’s like they’re taunting the line of red and white players across the field. A beautiful, choreographed psych out.

Patrick watches, mesmerized, as the players shout, as they move in complete synchronicity, as their movements showcase the rippling muscles of their backs, their arms, their legs. Rugby players are fucking _built_. Damn. And _fuck…_ he can feel his cheeks start to flush when they stick out their tongues. 

“Have you never seen the All Blacks perform a haka before?” David asks quietly, his eyes betraying his obvious amusement at Patrick’s… _interest_.

“I don’t really follow rugby, David,” Patrick manages to choke out, still transfixed by the movements on the screen.

“It’s a traditional Maori war dance, a challenge to their opponents,” David explains, running his fingers through Patrick’s hair and scratching idly at his scalp. He punctuates what he says with kisses to Patrick’s temple. “The All Blacks perform the haka before they do their rugby games,” David kisses him some more. “The first time I saw them live I was completely entranced. I mean, seriously, all sports would be so much better with more performances like this.”

“You’ve been to a rugby match?” Patrick asks, trying to imagine his perfectly coifed and styled fiancé in the stands, watching…men like _that._

“I-uh…dated a rugby person once,” David demurs, and returns to nuzzling Patrick’s neck. And then another image floods his mind—of David on his knees, his hair getting perfectly mussed by calloused hands as he sucks on some thick-muscled player’s cock. _Fuck._ He feels a familiar tension coiling at the base of his spine, feels the blood starting to rush to his dick.

Patrick turns his gaze back to the television, but his attention is now clearly divided. The haka appears to be over, and both teams are moving on the field, but there’s only so much Patrick can follow on the screen as David’s mouth is moving to his ear. He can’t bite back the desperate little whimper that escapes his throat, so instead, he leans into it. He crawls into David’s lap, takes hold of his stubbled jaw with both hands, and tilts David’s face up for a kiss. Just a delicate press of his lips, soft and sweet, but with a promise of more to come. He grinds against David’s lap, groaning as his rapidly hardening cock drags against David’s body.

“Don’t you want to watch the show, Patrick?” David nuzzles the tip of his nose against Patrick’s. He teases him, with his words and with his tongue, tracing along his cupid’s bow before swiping into Patrick’s mouth. David slides his own broad palms down Patrick’s sides and rests them on his ass. Just rests them there, no squeezing or rubbing or anything, and that may be the worst thing David’s ever done. Patrick circles his hips so that David’s dick rubs up against the cleft of his ass through their clothes. And when David lets a little whine slip from his throat, Patrick swallows it greedily.

It feels good, but it’s not enough.

Patrick breaks the kiss so that he can tug his t-shirt off, carelessly slinging it in the direction of the coffee table. The rugby show can wait.

“Yours, too?” he asks, hesitant, because he’s been with David Rose long enough to know that his clothes are _not_ to be manhandled. He keeps his eyes locked on David’s face as he maneuvers himself back off David’s lap, giving David room to remove his sweater while he fumbles out of his sweatpants. The carefully folded soft black cashmere joins Patrick’s crumpled shirt on the table.

The fond way that David stares up at him—like a kid who’s just been handed a puppy in one hand and a chocolate cake in the other—makes Patrick’s heart expand like it’s gonna burst through his chest. It’s so much, and it’s all for _him._ That David looks at _him_ like he’s feeling the same goddamned thing? Sometimes Patrick needs to pinch himself just to make sure that this isn’t all some beautiful, perfect dream.

In a rush, Patrick’s back in David’s lap, hands roving over David’s chest and shoulders as he leans in for another kiss. “Wanna suck you,” he manages to gasp into David’s mouth, “need you in my mouth.”

“Mmhmm, okay,” David answers, then curls his fingers into Patrick’s hair as he licks into his mouth, “so I take it you liked the show?”

Patrick just groans and pushes down harder onto David’s lap, grinding against David’s cock.

“Just thinking,” he rocks his hips from side to side, “about you and those players—” he loses the ability to form words as David thrusts up against him.

“All of them?” David’s voice is lilting as he noses his way from Patrick’s lips to the corner of his jaw, then starts to suck and nibble at a spot below his ear. “At the same time? Sounds like quite the party.” David slides his broad palms down Patrick’s back and lets his fingertips rest just inside the waistband of his briefs.

“Fuck, David.” Patrick tilts his head to offer up more of his neck to David’s ministrations, professionalism be damned.

“That can be arranged.” David taunts him with another thrust of his hips as he kneads the muscles of Patrick’s ass with those strong hands.

Summoning up all his willpower, Patrick pulls away from David’s mouth, slides down to kneel between David’s legs. He nuzzles his face into the bulge in David’s joggers, delighting in the heft of it, inhaling the smell of laundry detergent melding with David’s spicy body wash and that underlying scent of David beneath it all. It’s intoxicating, is what it is. No better high out there.

Patrick mouths along David’s waistband, alternating open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks and the occasional nip to the sensitive skin until David’s writhing beneath him. He hooks a couple fingertips into the elastic and pauses, looking up at David, awaiting confirmation before he continues. David’s eyes are glassy and half-lidded as he nods down at Patrick, lifting his hips so that Patrick can ease him out of his pants and underwear in one go.

Patrick is too eager to move with much deliberation, so as he yanks everything down, David’s cock springs free, smacking against his abdomen and smearing a line of precome onto his happy trail. Patrick immediately bends to lick it up, smiling against David’s skin as David moans at the touch. Dropping his head a bit lower, he pins David’s dick against his stomach and licks along the fat vein on the underside, tracing it from the swell of his balls all the way up to the crown.

He sighs and licks his lips, then presses a delicate kiss to the tip before darting his tongue out against the slit. “Fuck, Patrick,” David grits out, his hands clenched into fists by his sides as he tries—mostly in vain—not to thrust up toward’s Patrick’s mouth. Patrick just hums happily against the sensitive, velvet-soft skin on the head of David’s cock. Patrick hears a thunk, followed by a muttered curse, as David’s head drops back against the sofa.

While David’s distracted, Patrick sucks the fat pink head between his lips and flutters the tip of his tongue against the slit, before putting firm pressure against the frenulum. He wraps his hand around the base of David’s shaft to hold him steady, then curls his tongue around the head as he slides a little further down, using the flat of his tongue to massage the underside of his shaft as he moves. It’s a stretch, taking David deep is always such a stretch for him, but Patrick’s nothing if not a diligent, goal-oriented lover. He bobs his head a few times, working more of David’s length inside with each movement, and then pulls off almost all the way so that he can look up at his fiancé. He grins to see David’s head flung back onto the back of the sofa, a flush creeping its way down his chest.

“How ya doing, love?” he murmurs, chuckling when David just growls in response. He suckles softly at the head of David’s dick in apology, then slides back down, taking David even deeper into his throat now that he’s relaxed further into it.

Before he can fall into a steady rhythm, though, Patrick gets a little overzealous. He finds himself needing to pull off all the way, sputtering a little and coughing, before his lips have gotten all the way down to his hand. As he coughs, there’s a gentle hand in his hair, and Patrick feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mutters. And then there’s a fingertip caressing his jaw, pressing underneath it to force Patrick’s gaze up to where David’s watching him, questioning eyes so full of love and trust and fondness that Patrick forgets to be embarrassed. “I’m fine, promise,” he says, before proving his point by swallowing David down again. This time, he finds his rhythm, switching between sucking David’s cock deep into his throat and lavishing him with kitten licks all over, from tasting the precome at the head to teasing along the curve of David’s balls with the tip of his tongue.

“‘M close,” David manages to choke out, bringing both hands to curl around the back of Patrick’s head as he struggles not to fuck up into Patrick’s mouth, “gonna come.”

“Wait,” Patrick moves to press the heels of both hands against David’s hip bones, pulling completely off his dick. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck, Patrick,” David almost shouts as he squeezes the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm. “A little more warning would be nice,” he hisses.

The grin Patrick shoots David isn’t even slightly apologetic, and he knows it. “Sorry.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” David mutters, still white-knuckling the base of his dick, “now where do you want to do this?”

“Here. Now.” Patrick turns away from David, arching his back to expose himself more readily to his fiancé. There’s a clatter behind him, and as he glances over his shoulder, he notices that David’s kicked one end of the loveseat back a few feet so that he can kneel behind Patrick.

“Bend over,” David demands, and of course Patrick complies. He rests his torso onto the coffee table as a shiver of anticipation runs down his spine. David presses a kiss to the base of his spine, then starts to work his way down, his warm breath a tease against the cleft of Patrick’s ass—

**CRACK. CRASH. BOOM.**

It takes a moment or seven for everything to come into focus. One second, Patrick’s about to get rimmed, and the next…he’s lying on the floor, and—is that blood? Is he bleeding?

“What happened?” Patrick notices bits of splintered wood scattered around.

“ _What the fuck?”_ From behind him, David sounds just as confused. 

“Did we break—” Patrick’s jaw aches, and not just from giving head. He moves it around a bit, opening and closing his mouth, and notices that there’s blood both inside his mouth and under his chin. _Ow._

“The coffee table?” David’s voice has gone soft and high, the way it does when he’s nervous. “Are you bleeding?”

“Uh, yeah,” Patrick replies, “think I bit my tongue, maybe. And something else when I landed. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” David breathes, “let’s get you into the bathroom and cleaned up.”

David’s already standing. Patrick takes a moment to lament his fiancé’s flagging erection—he’d had plans for that, dammit—and then reaches to take David’s hand so that he can be led to the bathroom like a child.

“Sit down,” David orders. When Patrick opens his mouth to protest, David quirks an eyebrow at him and glares.

“Okay, David.”

“Now show me where it hurts.”


End file.
